


When Amalia Met Dear Friend

by huffellepuff



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffellepuff/pseuds/huffellepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Amalia sees Georg Nowack opening box 1203, she knows there has to be some mistake. There is no way that he is Dear Friend, he can't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A discussion on fyeahshelovesme.tumblr.com about what it would look like if Amalia found out before Georg led to me finally writing something for these characters I adore so much. I can only hope I did them justice, and thank my friends who talked me through a million tiny decisions.
> 
> A lot of dialogue is taken directly from the book, or adapted or added to. Credit to Joe Masteroff, Sheldon Harnick, and Jerry Bock, of course. :)

Amalia had never seriously considered looking for Dear Friend's post office box. She may have glanced at the numbers that surrounded her own box, just in case, but never really thought about going into other post offices to peek. And she _certainly_ never daydreamed about stumbling across his box and finding him there beside it. Well, not often anyway. No, she knew that she didn't need to know anything about him beyond the content of his letters. Those incredible, romantic, enthralling letters told her that he was everything she could want or need in a man, no matter what he looked like, where he worked, how old he was, or his name. Regardless, in just twelve hours, the post office box dream would be irrelevant because they were _finally_ going to meet. So as she walked into the post office by Lindner's to mail a letter before work, it didn't even occur to her to look at the numbers. Her head was full of a much more definite fantasy, one that promised to come true in just half a day. She could hardly believe she would soon be seeing and hearing Dear Friend, right there beside her! Unfortunately, she was quickly pulled out of this pleasant reverie by the sight of the one person who could bring down her mood.

“Oh, Miss Balash, um, good morning. Could I get by you? I need to check my mail,” Mr. Nowack said with a curt smile.

“Of course,” Amalia responded, moving aside and automatically glancing to Mr. Nowack's hands as he inserted the key into box 1203. Box...1203? Amalia gasped in horror before she could stop herself.

“Miss Balash, are you alright?” Mr. Nowack asked slowly, looking up at her as if she had grown an extra head.

“Mr. Nowack, did you say you were checking the mail for a family member, or perhaps a friend?” She asked desperately, hoping she had misheard him.

“No...I'm just picking up my mail. I'll see you at work, hopefully _on time_ today,” he said, turning away from her and walking out the door.

“I...don't...” she stuttered as she watched him leave. “No. It just _can't_ be him, I can't be in love with _Mr. Nowack_.”

Amalia walked to work in a daze. How had her morning gone from such bliss to such utter confusion so quickly? Surely she had not fallen for Mr. Nowack. It was impossible, even if she _might_ have found him attractive that first day – and she would never admit to that – it could not cancel out every wretched day afterward. This had to be some kind of cruel joke, he must have found out about Dear Friend and...and...oh, but how could he get into the box if it wasn’t his? Dear Friend would never consent to such a thing. Yet, if that wasn't it, and Mr. Nowack _was_ Dear Friend...then he must have been deliberately trying to woo and disappoint her. Perhaps he had a friend write them, or more likely still, he stole ideas from books. There is no way that _Georg Nowack_ could have such beautiful thoughts, that all of those lovely words came from _him_. Nothing else made sense, exactly, but by the time she got to work, she absolutely knew that the Dear Friend she fell in love with was not real. Mr. Nowack had somehow created the fictional man of her dreams, and for that, he would pay.

 

The work day passed, though not as she expected. She felt as if she was going through emotional whiplash, as each interaction with Mr. Nowack produced jarring new feelings. One moment she was planning the best way to channel her anger towards him, and the next she was sympathizing as he fielded yet another attack from Mr. Maraczek. She couldn't figure out what to think or feel. Most distressing of all, she found, was that she still wanted to go to dinner that night. She told herself it was so she could really get back at Mr. Nowack. He wouldn't know that she knew, so she could plan her responses, give him hell and test him a bit. It was only fair. But if she were really being honest with herself, more than anything, she was curious. She had been looking forward to this night since before it had even been discussed, and she needed to know.

Her conviction that she would still go to dinner ended up causing a lot more difficulty than she had bargained for. She was beginning to doubt, again, whether he was really doing this intentionally, when he asked her to stay behind to decorate after work. Of _all_ nights, he asked her to stay on this one, and she knew he was doing it to further provoke her. Even so, she could not help but give into his bait and fight to keep her night off. She still could not explain why, but she _needed_ to go tonight. And so she told him, asked him why tonight of all nights, and decided to fight him hard on it. She was getting ready to channel all of that anger, but what came out instead was a very real concern she had had no intention of revealing.

“You know, I find it quite depressing that anyone could hate me that much…” she began.

“I don’t hate you, but before you came here, this was a happy, peaceful place. Now – the whole atmosphere’s changed: everyone’s cranky – Mr. Maraczek’s on the warpath…” he responded, raising his voice more than he ever had in previous arguments.

“That’s not my fault!” Amalia responded, matching his tone and volume.

And then, ignoring the momentary pang of guilt she felt when she found out about the improperly filled tubes of Mona Lisa, Amalia found that anger again and thus began the worst argument that they had ever had. Mr. Nowack had even tried to give her an out, but Amalia wouldn’t have it. Their arguments before had mostly been pointed remarks and sarcastic responses, but this was a proper fight, full of real emotions and comments meant to cut. It only ended when Amalia, feeling ready to burst and bring up Dear Friend, decided to cut it short with a cold comment and stormed into the back room. She could hear Georg yell about her being the rudest and worst tempered girl in the world as she was shutting the door.

Amalia tried to get back to work wrapping Christmas boxes, but nearly started tearing the wrapping paper in her frustration. Throughout that entire argument, Mr. Nowack _still_ would not acknowledge the letters. He didn’t look happy about what was happening, but he must have been. She knew that it would have been more satisfying if she had just accepted working tonight, it would have taken the wind out of sails entirely – what good is his plan of torture if she isn’t invested enough to even try to make the date tonight? But that nagging desire to go won out, and now all she felt was even more anger and confusion. She was interrupted from her thoughts when Mr. Nowack stormed back into the workroom and starting putting his coat on.

“Mr. Nowack, are you leaving?” Amalia asked in shock, as there was still time before closing and Mr. Nowack had always been a dedicated worker.

“It should be good news for you, Miss Balash. Very good news. I won’t be arguing with you anymore, I just quit my job,” he replied bitterly.

“Why?” Amalia asked, her heart sinking a little bit. She knew things had been pretty bad for him at work recently, and could not help but feel like their argument had helped pushed him over the edge. She was angry with him, she didn’t like him, but she never wished for this.

“Well – as a matter of fact – I didn’t have much choice.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything. Especially not that you’re sorry--let’s not end our relationship on _that_ false note. Goodbye, Miss Balash.”

Despite everything, Amalia could not let him believe that. It was an insult to her character.

“Mr. Nowack! May the condemned woman have one last word? I’ve never wished you harm. Ever. You’ve got to believe that,” she told him, knowing as she said it that the words were truer than she had believed previously. She wanted to retaliate against this horrible game he was playing, pretending to be a man she would fall in love with, but deep down she did not actually want anything _truly_ bad to happen to him. And losing his job was definitely, truly bad.

“I believe you, Miss Balash. And, may I say, I sincerely hope you marry some nice man and have many children. And for the sake of my successor in this job, I hope it’s soon!” He said with vitriol as he left the workroom and Amalia behind.

Amalia pitied him, she really did, but with that last comment her anger once again got the best of her. What a small, petty man he was, and now he was paying the price for it. Even when Amalia tried to show him some kindness, he used the one thing he knew would be most effective and threw it in her face. As far as he knew, she was still expecting to meet the love of her life tonight, and of course he knew it would not end well. She bet he thought he was clever, insulting her twice in one reply, with an insult that would sting even more later in the night. Amalia wanted to show resilience, even if he wasn’t around to see it, and just brush the comment off and move on, planning how she would behave at dinner tonight. Instead, she just felt sad.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but just this morning she was so full of hope for her future. She had fancied herself in love with a kind, gentle, bright young man, and now she felt that she had no one. Today was supposed to be the start of something new, it was supposed to be incredible. She had expected to be nervous all day, to feel like she would burst from excitement and from worry that he might not love her like she loved him. Unfortunately, that worry ended up proving true before she even got to work, turning what should have been a beautiful day into one of the worst she could remember.

How could one man go to so much trouble to hurt a coworker? And _why_? Sure, they hadn’t gotten along, but was that male pride she chided him for earlier actually _that_ wounded? As she thought about this, Amalia began to feel the anger bubble up again. She had no idea what would happen tonight at the café, but she knew that she had to go. Whatever this thing was, whatever his motives and whatever her feelings, _something_ had to happen tonight.

At the sound of Ilona entering the workroom, Amalia started and noticed the time. Work was over, and Ilona had come to wish her good luck on her date tonight. Amalia could barely manage a weak “thank you,” but Ilona was too busy to notice anyway. Taking a deep breath, Amalia grabbed her belongings and headed out door. It was time.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Welcome to the Café Imperiale! Do you have a reservation, madam?” the host kindly asked her, before noticing her book with the rose sticking out. His tone then shifted slightly. “Or are you meeting someone, perhaps?”

“Oh, um, yes, I am meeting someone. I don’t know if he made a reservation. But it would be a table for two, 8 o’clock, not sure what name it might be under…” Amalia responded awkwardly, realizing that Mr. Nowack may not have even planned this far ahead. What if there was no table?

“Ah yes, I see, right this way, madam,” the host responded with a kind, almost pitying smile as he led her to a table in the middle of restaurant. Despite its central location, it still felt more intimate than she was prepared for.

Amalia sat at the table, ordered some wine, and waited. She did not want to be caught staring at the door, so she chose the chair that faced away from it. Well, she knew that he had planned enough to book a table. The way the waiter had responded to her showed that much. But what if he had planned all of this only to stand her up? Amalia hadn’t considered it before, but it might be possible. She had figured he planned on showing up and seeing the horror on her face and…well, she hadn’t thought about what he would do when he got here, actually. But she just assumed he’d have the dignity to come and admit what happened to her face, somehow. As the minutes ticked by, though, she began to feel like she had once again given him too much credit. He was just going to let her sit, rose in book, obvious to the entire restaurant that she had been stood up by a man who hadn’t even seen her. Or worse yet, one who _had_ seen her and walked out!

Once again, Amalia felt overcome by anger. And now, she was glad of it. Anger, she could handle. Anger was easy - it called for action. The confused hurt that came in-between the bouts of anger, on the other hand, was paralyzing. So whether or not Mr. Nowack showed up, Amalia was glad to feel something that propelled her forward and made her feel alive. Mr. Nowack went through all of this so she could be stood up. He wasn’t even a big enough person to admit to what he’d done, he just put her through hell with no more effort than some letters and a table reservation. No need to even show up and watch what he’d done.

“Miss Balash!” Mr. Nowack cried in feign surprise, startling Amalia.

“Mr. Nowack! What are you doing here?” she responded, feeling legitimately surprised at his appearance, given how thoroughly she had convinced herself of his plan.

“Celebrating,” Mr. Nowack said, a pained smile coming across his face, “How about you?”

“I’m waiting for someone,” Amalia said as coldly as she could manage, taking another sip of her wine and trying to hide the anger in her voice.

“Anyone in particular?” he asked her, seemingly searching her face for some sign of…disappointment? Sadness? Excitement? Amalia wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

“Well of course! What kind of girl do you think I am?” he said, feeling her face flush with embarrassment, even though she _knew_ he knew, “Never mind, Mr. Nowack. I know.”

“May I sit down for a minute?” He asked her with what _looked_ like genuine hope on his face. Amalia decided he was a better actor that she thought. She realized she needed to take control of the situation.

“No. I’m afraid not,” she replied firmly.

“You won’t help me celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” His question caught her off guard.

“My freedom, Miss Balash!” Mr. Nowack said with a trace of bitterness, “Just think of it! Tomorrow’s Wednesday and I can sleep in as late as I like!”

He then sat down in the chair opposite Amalia and grabbed a wine glass. Still determined not to let his plan work, whatever that plan might be, she tried to regain her control.

“Mr. Nowack, I told you! That chair happens to be reserved.”

“You won’t even have one quick drink with me?”

“I can’t!” For reasons she couldn’t understand, she was losing her determination to defy whatever he was trying to do. Maybe he could sit down.

“One small farewell drink?” he asked with what sounded like desperation in his voice. But that couldn’t be, could it? Desperation was not a response to a plan like his going slightly awry--it indicated more emotion. But that didn’t make any sense.

“If it’s very small, and very quick,” Amalia said firmly, again trying to appear calm and ready to deal with this (whatever _this_ even was). Mr. Nowack then filled his glass and refilled hers with the wine at the table.

“Thank you, Miss Balash.” He lifted his glass to hers in a toast. “Well, here’s to Maraczek’s Parfumerie! And the people who work there! And the people who used to work there…and all the customers!”

“And that covers everything!” she said, cutting him off before he could go on and quickly taking a drink from her glass. What on earth was he playing at, really?

“Good wine,” Mr. Nowack said before taking another drink. Amalia was startled to notice his glass was already nearly empty, and began wondering just what was making him act so strangely. It didn’t feel like he was just messing with her, he looked…nervous? But that couldn’t be it. Maybe he was just taking the chance at a free drink off of her, after all he _did_ lose his job today. She needed to do something - get a reaction out of him, get some answers without showing her cards.

“Mr. Nowack, are you spying on me?”

“Spying?” he replied dumbly, confusion spreading over his face. Amalia couldn’t help but think it was almost cute, but quickly pushed that thought from her head.

“Did you come here to make sure I really have a date? That I wasn’t just inventing an excuse not to work tonight?” she asked triumphantly.

“Miss Balash, who would I be spying for?” he asked her, confusion replaced once again by bitterness. “Mr. Maraczek?”

Amalia realized the error in her quickly thought up plan. Maybe she was too close to this to work effectively, and maybe she should have avoided the glass or two of wine on an empty stomach. She wasn’t thinking clearly anymore (which would explain her misreading his face so often tonight) and just needed this godforsaken night to end.

“Mr. Nowack, if you don’t leave this table immediately, I am going to have to call the waiter.”

“ _There_ ,” she thought, “ _Plain, simple, and it will make him tell the truth or leave_.” Either would have been a relief to her at this point.

“Yes, madam?” the waiter said, surprising Amalia with his sudden appearance.

“Oh, ah. There you are,” she replied awkwardly, since she had had no actual intention of setting the waiter on Mr. Nowack.

“May I put a word in?” the waiter asked, “The Café Imperiale is a rendezvous for lovers. Look around you. We try to preserve a romantic atmosphere, and I find it very difficult, madam, when you and your husband insist on fighting right in the middle of it. Can’t you argue at home?”

“This is _not_ my husband!” she said, feeling dumbfounded and flushing in embarrassment, “This is a…business associate.”

“Well, talk business somewhere else, please,” the waiter said before walking away.

Amalia could not believe what had just happened. She hoped that Mr. Nowack couldn’t tell how flustered she was, how the idea of the waiter thinking they were married made her face feel hot and her head feel a little fuzzy... Out of horror and embarrassment, of course. She just wanted this night to be over.

“You say you’re meeting someone here? Someone you’ve known very long?” Mr. Nowack asked, trying to start conversation going again.

“Mr. Nowack, will you leave?”

“It doesn’t seem right for a man to keep a girl waiting, all alone…in such a public place…”

“Will you please leave?” Amalia asked, desperately trying to bring this horrible night to an end.

“Even if he’s an old friend, a _dear_ friend…” Mr. Nowack trailed off and Amalia felt like her heart stopped for just a second. After skirting around it and behaving so strangely, he was actually bringing up Dear Friend. And while ten minutes ago she had been ready to take the bait, now she just felt tired.

“I don’t want to discuss it with you, Mr. Nowack,” she said, hoping he would accept it and just _go away_.

“What’s the name of that tune?” he asked her, looking over at the violinist in the corner of the café, “My mother used to sing it to me when I was a baby.”

“Mine too,” Amalia replied, wondering if she sounded as defeated as she felt.

“Miss Balash, do you realize? We’ve just found something in common. At one time, we were both infants,” Mr. Nowack said with dramatically feigned awe in his voice.

“But I grew up.” She barely refrained from rolling her eyes at his attempt to keep this charade going.

“What’s this?” he asked her, quickly picking up her book.

“Put that back!” she snapped at him.

“ _Anna Karenina_ …”

“Yes. It’s a book. By Leo Tolstoy. A Russian. Now will you please put it back?” Amalia said with contempt, taking another drink of her wine. She felt like she was barely hanging on, and Mr. Nowack was clearly choosing now to go through with his plan of attack.

“What’s this for?” he picked the rose out of the book and held it up.

“That’s none of your business!” Amalia practically shrieked.

“Miss Balash, is it possible you’ve never even _met_ this man?” he asked her, eyes wide in mock horror.

“That’s ridiculous!” She couldn’t help but defend herself, even though they both knew the truth.

“Of course it is,” he said flippantly, while Amalia put all of her power into glaring at him, “And yet, you know, some girls – and some men – _do_ make appointments with strangers. And sometimes it turns out rather well. And on the other hand, sometimes it turns out not so well.”

He then continued on to tell a story about a girl he once knew who had planned on meeting someone the exact same way she and Dear Friend had planned on. Amalia struggled to maintain her composure throughout his story which was clearly aimed to upset her. If she could just get through it, he would have to give up eventually and let her be.

“The next day the police found her left leg floating in the Danube. And you know, they never did find the rest of her. _Or_ her book,” Mr. Nowack ended with a flourish. Amalia had had more than enough.

“Mr. Nowack, I am going to count to five, and if you are still sitting here I will _scream_. One,” Amalia said as calmly as she could manage.

“I just want to talk to you!” he said, panic rising on his face.

“Don’t forget I’ve had some wine and nothing to eat since _noon_. Two.”

“Miss Balash, are you intoxicated?”

“You know, Dante once described all the depths of hell, and oh Mr. Nowack, if I had my way? You would know them very, very well. Three.”

“Miss Balash!” he looked shocked at her statement.

“You are easily the _most_ insensitive man I have _ever_ met. I’m fighting for my life here, Mr. Nowack, will you please go?” she asked desperately, “Four. Four and a half….Five.”

And before she realized what she was doing, Amalia screamed, causing the waiter to run over with a look of horror on his face. She covered her mouth, shocked that she actually did it.

“Are you trying to ruin me, lady? I warned you, get out!” the waiter practically yelled.

“Wait a minute!” Mr. Nowack interrupted, trying to get the waiter to stop.

“You too, get _out_! Screaming like lunatics!” the waiter said after turning towards Mr. Nowack.

“How _dare_ you speak to a lady that way?!” Mr. Nowack shouted, standing up to look the waiter in the eye. This move of defense on Amalia’s behalf caught her off guard and she could do little more than stare at them in shock.

“ _Ladies_ do not scream in cafes,” the waiter replied snidely.

“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand, you see…there was a fly in the wine,” Mr. Nowack told the waiter. Amalia couldn’t understand why he was doing this. She had already been horribly embarrassed and, from what Mr. Nowack knew, it was looking pretty clear that she had been stood up for her date. So why was he trying to defend her?

“What?” the waiter said, eyes bulging.

“I _said,_ ” Mr. Nowack began, getting louder with each word, “A _FLY_ in the _WINE._ ”

“Shh! Where is it? Show it to me,” the waiter panicked, looking into the bottle.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. You see, the lady swallowed it,” Mr. Nowack looked triumphant as the waiter paled.

“She swallowed…”

“Wouldn’t _you_ scream?” Mr. Nowack asked him. Another table called for the waiter, and he quickly left. Amalia couldn’t handle anymore of this, every time she thought she was about to get out of this horrible situation, Mr. Nowack made it go on. She felt there was no choice but to just be honest.

“Really, Mr. Nowack…no matter how much you despise me or how unhappy you are, haven’t you had enough revenge? I don’t understand you,” Amalia said, surprised to feel tears welling in her eyes.

“How could you, Miss Balash? You’ve never even listened to me, you’ve never really looked at me…” he said, with a look of vulnerability that Amalia chose to steadfastly ignore. This had to end.

“How wrong you are, Mr. Nowack. I’m looking at you now, and shall I tell you what I see? A smug, pompous, petty tyrant – very sure of himself and very ambitious. But I see him ten years from now – selling shampoo. And twenty years from now, selling shampoo. And _thirty_ years from now, _still_ selling shampoo.” Amalia stood up to get on level with Mr. Nowack. “Because, basically, do you know what he is? Just a not-very-bright, not-very-handsome, not-very-young man with balding hair and the personality of a python!”

Amalia immediately regretted her words when she saw the look on Mr. Nowack’s face. She hadn’t expected him to take her insults very seriously, but it appeared that her words had indeed cut him. He didn’t retaliate or respond, he just turned and began walking out of the restaurant.

“Mr. Nowack, wait, I didn’t mean _all_ those things!” she called after him, not wanting to leave things there. “Mr. Nowack!”

Amalia sat back down at the table, feeling overwhelmed and depressed now that the anger was gone. She felt horrible for saying such cruel things to Mr. Nowack – deserved as they may have been – but mostly she just felt sorry for herself. It had been one of the worst days of her life. As much as she had tried to tell herself that she could get even with Mr. Nowack, let her anger fuel her and make things fair, she now accepted that it was simply impossible. She had to admit that Mr. Nowack had effectively broken her heart. Dear Friend may not have been an actual person, but she was definitely quite in love with him. She knew the café would be closing soon, but she struggled to convince herself to move. The violinist in the corner played romantic tunes while the candlelight gleamed at her table. Looking around, she saw couples in love and wished with all of her heart that she had never written that first letter.

 

By the time Amalia got home, she felt more exhausted than she could ever recall feeling before and wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next year. However, sleep evaded her. The distress she felt over everything that had happened only got worse as the night went on and the hangover from the wine started to set in. She could not help going over everything, questioning her decisions and his motives, and wondering what on earth really happened. As the hours ticked by, she began to realize a few flaws in her logic…

If Mr. Nowack had known that she was the one he was exchanging letters with, wouldn’t he have reacted a little more when she saw him at the post office? For God’s sake, she looked at his mailbox and basically asked him if it was his. He would have known that he was caught. And why would he go to so much trouble to do this to her anyway? If she was being honest with herself, 24 hours ago she would not have thought it possible he could stoop so low. Now that everything was over, she once again doubted that he had that in him. Sure, he could be a petty man, and they butted heads at work just about every time they spoke, but he was not cruel. That first day she went to Maraczek’s looking for a job, he tried to be as polite as he could, and he seemed genuinely apologetic when he told her they weren’t replacing Ms. Horvath. It wasn’t until she went over his head to Mr. Maraczek that the annoyance showed, and to be fair to him it _was_ an annoying move for her to pull. _Effective_ , but annoying. Maybe under slightly different circumstances, that first day would have been fine.

It was already light out when Amalia had a realization that hit her harder than any of the previous ones. That first day that she’d been musing about? It was in the end of June, and she first wrote Dear Friend in May. It was completely impossible that he knew it was her, that he was writing letters as some cruel joke. They had already sent multiple letters to each other, they were beginning to form what Amalia had felt was a deep bond by the time she walked into Maraczek’s Parfumerie. For the sake of her sanity, she kept trying to tell herself that he still could have gotten someone else’s input on the letters, that he could have copied things he wrote from books rather than coming up with them himself. But Amalia knew that realistically, that made no sense. He certainly exaggerated in some letters (of that she was sure), but he couldn’t possibly have pieced together so much from others into such beautiful prose. Those thoughts must have at least in part been his.

The implications of this began to sink in. If Mr. Nowack was Dear Friend, and he was being genuine in what he wrote, then she was in love with Mr. Nowack. She was _in love_ with _Georg Nowack_. She had unknowingly daydreamed about becoming Mrs. Amalia _Nowack._ And, somehow even stranger to her, it probably meant that Mr. Nowack was in love with her too. If their letters had been anything to go by and she had been reading the signs correctly, he could have easily been prepared to propose to her at that café. But then…he didn’t. He didn’t bring up anything. He didn’t know that she knew, he could have said something. If he wasn’t as horrified to discover it was her as she was to discover it was him, he wouldn’t have pretended. If he had had any interest in trying to make things work with her after finding out, last night would have gone a lot differently than it did. Instead, he lied to her, embarrassed her, and let her feel as though Dear Friend wasn’t coming - and that doesn’t sound like the Dear Friend she fell in love with. Maybe she was in love with part of Mr. Nowack, but it didn’t seem to be the part that really counted. And as far as his feelings for her went, clearly they didn’t extend past his frustration with her as a co-worker. Amalia decided that she couldn’t quite handle whatever today would bring her, so she called in sick to work and curled up, finally falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Amalia woke to a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Miss Balash?” responded the person behind the door, knocking again.

“Who is it?” she called out a little louder, slowly getting out of bed.

“Miss Balash?” the voice called again, and she froze as she recognized it.

“Just a minute.” Georg was at her door, and she had no idea what to do. She couldn’t ignore him, she didn’t even _want_ to ignore him (she’d have to think about what that meant later), but she was nowhere near prepared to deal with whatever was about to happen. She decided that her best route would be the feign ignorance and just play as if she were the broken hearted, lonely girl he probably figured she would be right about now. Then she could worry about figuring out if she _was_ indeed that girl, albeit that girl with more information.

“Mr. Nowack?” she asked confusedly when she opened the door to see Georg standing there holding a brown paper bag.

“I was in the neighborhood…” Georg responded, as if dropping by casually were a normal thing for him to do.

“What do you want?” she started with a genuine question, before remembering she should play her role, “Have you thought of something else you forgot to say last night? Well, say it, please, and get it over with. I’m not feeling very well today.”

“I know you’re not. That’s why I’m here,” he said, which definitely got her attention.

“You knew I was sick? How?”

“Well…this will come as quite a shock to you, Miss Balash. But, the fact is, I’m back at Maraczek’s again,” he smiled sheepishly, which Amalia found upsettingly endearing. She had to focus.

“Back at Maraczek’s?” she asked, suddenly realizing what he was saying. Her first thought was relief for his sake, but then it occurred to her that this could have an effect on her employment.

“As of this morning,” Georg told her.

“And you’ve come to see if I’m really sick? Is that it?” Amalia began visibly panicking, mostly for show but a tiny bit of her was concerned it might be true.

“No, no!” he tried to protest.

“So you can tell everyone there’s not a thing wrong with me? That I just don’t care about my job?” she exclaimed over his continuing protests, “Well, Mr. Nowack, you’re not going to have that chance! What time is it? I won’t be very late.”

She decided it would be in her best interest, both for keeping Georg in the dark and for keeping her job, to put on a determined show. She reached for her shoe from last night.

“Where’s my other shoe? Help me find it, please,” she asked him, frantically looking around her apartment.

“Miss Balash, I think you should lie down…” he told her, eyeing her wearily.

“No, no, where’s my other shoe? I need it for work! At least give me my hat there.” She grabbed the hat from behind him, putting it on over her bedhead.

“Please, lie down,” Georg asked her. Amalia noticed that he actually looked slightly concerned for her, but it was too late to back down now.

“I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Nowack, when you’re so happy to being doing something mean, but I am going to work! Now where is that shoe?”

“Miss Balash, please be sensible!” he said, worry growing more evident on his face.

“Is it cold out? I need to pick a sweater, can you help me? White or green?” She threw the sweaters at him as she said the colors, admittedly getting into the theatrics.

“You’re sick, you ought to lie down!” With each exclamation, he got a little less tentative and a little more directive.

“I’m feeling so much better, just one shoe and I’ll be on my way!” Amalia said with a grin, still clearly pajama clad.

“Miss Balash, I think you might have a fever. You need to go back to bed where you belong,” Georg said as he began to get closer to her. She wasn’t sure she was prepared for any kind of close proximity, so she ran back across the room and grabbed her jacket.

“See? There’s nothing wrong with me!” She put her jacket over her pajamas and looked at Georg with triumph.

“No, you’re not leaving this room. You’re going nowhere but back to bed,” he said, and before Amalia knew it, he had _picked her up_ and put her back onto her bed.

She was so completely caught off guard by this action that she buried her face in the pillows, hiding her blushing face. She knew she had to do something--she couldn’t just lie there like that--so she began pretending to cry into the pillow and was discomforted when her fake sobs quickly turned into real ones. Of course her body would choose now to catch up with her emotions. Turning over to her side, she saw Georg straightening up some of the things she had thrown around the room during her show, awkwardly avoiding areas where anything too personal lay. She couldn’t help but smile through her tears at the sight, but quickly put an anguished face in place when Georg turned to look at her.

“…I brought you something,” he said, holding up the brown paper bag that Amalia had forgotten about.

“What is it?” she said through her still streaming tears, more interested than she would like to be. Georg handed her the bag.

“Vanilla ice cream. It’s the best thing in the world when you’re sick.” He was practically beaming at her. “I’ll get a spoon.”

“In the little drawer,” she told him, though he appeared to intuitively know where to look without her direction, “Oh, it’s from Lindner’s. My mother works at Lindner’s. She may have waited on you.”

“A small, stout woman?” Georg asked. He handed her the spoon and she began eating.

“Oh, no. The image of me, everyone says, only much younger looking,” Amalia said pathetically, tears continuing down her face. She took another bite before speaking again. “There’s something wrong with this ice cream.”

“There is?” His face fell like he had personally failed. She noted the reaction and felt herself thawing to him just a little bit more. He knew she was unwell and brought her ice cream, after all. Maybe he wasn’t _so_ bad.

“So much salt...” Her changing response to him aside, she wasn’t ready to work through whatever _was_ there, so she had to continue playing the game.

“Are you surprised?” He smiled warmly at her. “All those tears falling into it.”

“Oh…I’d better cry in the other direction,” she said dramatically, letting another sob out, despite the tears beginning to dry up.

“Why cry at all?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to her and placing his hand on her shoulder. Amalia felt strangely comforted by the action and was disappointed when he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back.

“How little you understand, Mr. Nowack,” she began, turning her face towards him and thinking about how true that really was, “I’m like a rag doll, and somebody’s kicked out the stuffing.”

“You’ll soon fill up again, good as new,” Georg replied, making a face at how awkward his words ended up sounding. Amalia had to stifle a giggle.

“You’re looking at a very disillusioned girl, Mr. Nowack.” She shook her head sadly.

“You know, Miss Balash, I’ll never forgive myself for last night at the café. I must have been drunk…” he began and Amalia wondered if he was about to tell the truth. She figured she would continue playing dumb and see where it went.

“But, strangely enough, you were right, Mr. Nowack! When you guessed I’d never met the man I was waiting for. He was just someone who’d been writing letters to me, such glorious letters,” she said and carefully watched his reaction. For just a second, joy seemed to flash across his face, quickly being replaced by guilt.

“And he never showed up,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“I waited ‘til closing.”

“I feel very responsible….” Georg began. For some reason, Amalia didn’t want him to say whatever might come next.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t just you, Mr. Nowack. There could have been so many reasons. But…if he cared at all, he would have explained, he would have written. A letter, a note, two words, something!” She began crying again, not expecting the real flood of emotion that came with her comment.

“Miss Balash, he _will_ write!” he suddenly yelled, standing up with apparent determination.

“I don’t think so,” Amalia said tentatively.

“He will! I’m not just guessing! I know it definitely!” he told her defiantly.

“How?” Amalia narrowed her eyes at him. Was he being serious? Was he going to continue writing? And _where_ was he going with this? For a second, the blank look on Georg’s face made it seem that he didn’t know the answer to these questions either.

“He told me himself!” he said with a grin, sitting back down, this time in the chair by her bed.

“He…himself?” She was confused.

“Yes, of course! Dear Friend! No one else!” He looked so proud of himself for thinking of this, Amalia couldn’t help but smile. She tried to push thoughts of how endearing this was out of her head while she continued testing him. He tested her last night, after all, with the story of the young lady murdered by her sweetheart from the letters.

“Dear Friend?! When? How? Oh, tell me, Mr. Nowack. Tell me!” she said, sitting up so that her face was much closer to his than she had bargained for. But she wasn’t about to back down.

“Well…” He looked a little panicked, whether from the storytelling or proximity she couldn’t tell. “Let’s see now…you know…when I left the café last night, I had the oddest feeling that someone was following me. And I kept looking back, and there was a…”

“A young man?” she asked him, putting a hopeful look on her face and watching for his response. Georg was still a young man, of course, but he was definitely on the older side of that term.

“A _man_ ,” he started, apparently watching for Amalia’s reactions as much as she was watching for his. “And when I was almost home, he came up and started asking questions about me and you.”

“What sort of questions?”

“Oh, just what you’d expect…” Georg said, trailing off and apparently hoping that would be enough. Amalia wasn’t going to let him get away with being vague.

“But I want to know the _words_ he said,” she said, smiling innocently.

“I’m not very good with remembering exact words…” he said, trying once again to get out of a more detailed story. He shifted back in the chair, putting more distance between them.

“Try, please?” She batted her eyelashes. She would not give up that easily.

“Well…let’s see. I think the first thing he said was, ‘Excuse me, but I’d like to ask you a question.’ Or something like that. Then he said, ‘Did you just leave the Café Imperiale?’,” he finished with enthusiasm, but his face fell when he saw Amalia awaiting more details. “You want to know what I said too?”

“Of course!”

“All right. I said yes.”

“And then…” Amalia had to work to keep her eager face on and refrain from rolling her eyes.

“He said, ‘Tell me, that girl you were sitting with. Is she a special friend of yours?’ Those were his exact words, _special friend_. And I said ‘No, we just work at the same shop. As a matter of fact, she has an appointment with someone else tonight.’” Georg gained momentum as he spoke, smiling as he figured out what his story was. “I’m remembering very clearly now. And I remember he suddenly looked quite sad.”

“He looked sad?” she asked Georg, watching him with glee.

“Quite sad. And then he said, ‘I _know_ she has an appointment, it’s with _me_. But I’ve got to take the next train out of town on urgent business.’”

“Urgent business? Is he a manufacturer, do you think? Or a shopowner?” She expressed hope, as if this was what she dreamed of, and continued watching Georg’s face.

“It’s hard to say. He certainly looked well fed…” He trailed off and looked in her eyes.

“Well fed?”

“To judge by appearances…of course, that’s not so unusual in a man his age,” Georg said, before getting up and looking at Amalia’s bookshelf, “You have some wonderful books here, Miss Balash. _The Red and the Black_ \--I’ve been so anxious to read this, I wonder – could I borrow it sometime?”

Once Georg had begun implying that Dear Friend was old and fat--which she knew he was not--she had gotten distracted thinking about the reasoning. Was he teasing just because he could? Was he testing her again, perhaps because of his own insecurities? She never thought that Georg was either of those things, but maybe he was trying to paint such a negative scenario that he would look good in comparison? Amalia hardly thought it was necessary, but decided she could go along with it anyway.

“What?” she asked when she realized he had still been talking.

“I’d like to borrow this. I promise to return it,” Georg said, _The Red and The Black_ in his hands. Amalia ignored the question.

“What did you mean – a man his age?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said, ‘it’s not so unusual in a man his age.’ How old is he?”

“Well, of course, you realize it was a dark night….and he’d had an exhausting day. Emotionally, at any rate.” Amalia suddenly felt that that statement had been a little more personal than most of the storytelling. “I’d guess his age at…you know, it’s hard to tell. Very. Possibly if he had some hair…”

Georg shrugged and Amalia couldn’t help but to glance at his hair. It seemed fine.

“Have you read _The Magic Mountain_?” Georg suddenly asked.

“What?” Amalia wondered why he would bring up new negative details about the fictional Dear Friend, only to interrupt with book talk.

“ _The Magic Mountain_. I bought it for myself, for my birthday. If you’d like, I’d lend it to you…” he asked, losing confidence in his words along the way. Amalia almost responded with enthusiasm, as she very much wanted to read _The Magic Mountain,_ but forced herself to get Georg back on topic.

“Is he…completely bald?”

“Does that matter? I thought you were in love with him…” he asked, his tone somehow both challenging and worried.

And that, Amalia thought, is where this all is coming from. The two of them have bickered so much over the last five months that it’s no wonder they can’t help but compete and challenge each other over this, but they have also fallen so much for each other through the letters that the hope is there. She could see it in Georg now, and if she was being honest, she felt it in herself as well.

“I _am_ in love with him, Mr. Nowack,” she said the words with conviction, and began to feel like they might actually still be true. “It’s just…you know, I thought, I hoped…”

She stopped for a second. This wasn’t the time for the truth, but she had better say something. Just keep playing along and then work from there. She decided that he might need as much encouragement as she did.

“I’m so ashamed of myself! As if appearances made a difference! The important thing is the letters. Just look at all the immortal works of art, the rapturous love stories, that were written by elderly men! Bald men! Fat men! Men with indigestion and terrible tempers. But somewhere, deep inside, they had the magic…and that’s a glory beyond estimation!”

Georg stared at her with a confused smile on his face. Amalia considered that she may have gone overboard with the theatrics, but it was fun and he wasn’t leaving, so it seemed to be alright.

“You put it very well, Miss Balash,” he said, giving her a full, warm smile this time. She felt her stomach twist a little at the sight, and smiled back at him. She finally decided with some certainty that things weren’t all bad.

“I feel very well! I feel marvelous! Oh, thank you Mr. Nowack, thank you for coming here today, thank you for my life!” she exclaimed before standing up, throwing her arms around Georg’s neck, and giving him just a quick kiss. She wasn’t sure if she did it more to see his reaction or just because she wanted to.

It was altogether satisfactory. A brief kiss isn’t much to judge by, but she felt her lips tingle just a little bit from the knowledge of the touch more than the touch itself. And if George’s reaction of stumbling and falling into the chair next to him was any indication, he felt something too. Amalia felt as light as air.

“It’s so dark in here!” She turned away from Georg and went to open the curtains. “I’m going to write to him, this very minute. So he’ll have a letter waiting. But I won’t mention you, since that might be embarrassing.”

“Yes, I would appreciate that…” he muttered, and Amalia was pleased to see the effect she had on him. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, but she was definitely ready to think about it. “Well, I guess I’ll get back to the shop…”

“And I’ll follow, as soon as I’ve written the letter!” She beamed at him.

“Oh, no. There’s no need for that. Take the rest of the day off. Relax. Read a book. Have you finished _Anna Karenina_ yet?”

“Oh, yes. A long time ago.” She knows he knows the answer, but she’s happy to have the conversation.

“So did I. But it’s remarkable how it stays with me. You know, every platform, every station platform with a train puffing in, is Anna’s platform, wherever it may be. And I can see her, actually see her, come out of the crowd and walk slowly toward her death. I’ve even tried to stop her a few times. But she always vanishes into the smoke and the steam…”

Georg, or Dear Friend, had told her this before. She stared at him in wonder, puzzled that he would bring up something so specific that ought to be able to make her guess. Maybe he felt it would be easier if she guessed so he didn’t have to tell first.

“How odd, Mr. Nowack. How very odd. You know, in one of his letters…I wish I could show it to you…” She continued the act.

“You mean, Dear Friend’s had the same experience?” The exaggerated face of surprise he put on almost made Amalia laugh.

“More than once!” she said, holding in her giggle.

“Well, goodbye, Miss Balash.” He turned toward the door.

“Goodbye…Oh, Mr. Nowack!” He turned to look at her and she felt like she was about to burst. Since another kiss was certainly out of the question, she quickly added, “May I tell you something, quite sincerely? I like you, Mr. Nowack! Really, I like you!”

“Thank you, Miss Balash.” He turned once again to reach for the door, but instead ran into her lamp. “Uh, see you in the morning…”

 

 

Once Georg left, Amalia sat back in her bed, grabbed the ice cream that had been forgotten on her bedside table, and settled in to think about what had just happened and, more importantly, what it meant. Last night was awful. _He_ was awful. In retrospect she could see moments where he may have been trying, but overall his behavior was far from his best. Of course, he had just lost his job (which Amalia still felt a little guilty about, even if things seemed okay now) _and_ received the same shock about Dear Friend that she had that morning. He had to have been as distraught and confused as she had been, but he didn’t seem to jump to cruel conclusions like she had. She was ashamed to recall all of the nasty things she thought about him yesterday, and oh, the things she _said_. She had thought he deserved every rude word, but now she doubted that he had deserved any. _How_ could he forgive her for that?

But…he did forgive her, or at least he seemed to. After everything that happened the night before, all the cruel things they both said, he still came by to bring her ice cream when he found out she wasn't feeling well. Of course, he knew at least the basics of _why_ she was out sick and probably felt a little responsible for it. Amalia couldn't help but feel like the Georg she saw this morning was an entirely new Georg from the one she had previously known. But she realized that this wasn't a new Georg, this was just the side of him that she could (already did) love. This was Dear Friend. It may have been just a peek, but she saw him. He was kind, he showed his playful spirit, he discussed literature...this was the man she fell in love with. And she was finally on her way to an understanding of the real him. He was deeply flawed, but so was she, and maybe together they could be better.

Clearly, she and Georg had something special. She had spent months feeling it was a special kind of loathing, unlike anything she had quite experienced, but special nonetheless. They sparked in person as much as on paper, and if they could channel that passion away from torturing each other and towards something positive, they could really be something amazing. She just had to figure out how on earth she was going to handle their interactions from now on, both in person and on paper.

First thing first, she had to write that letter. There was so much she wanted to say, but for now it felt important to keep playing along. Georg needed to see that she meant the things she had said this morning and that she wanted to continue their correspondence, but it was risky to tell the whole truth right now. Amalia was coming to terms with the fact that she was in love with Georg Nowack, but she had no idea how he was feeling about it all. Based on the letters and his behavior this morning, she was fairly confident that he was in love with her. But she didn't know if _he_ was confident or accepting of the idea yet. Telling him her side of everything may be too overwhelming, what they had now was something new and delicate. So for now, she would write to the old, balding, fat Dear Friend that Georg had told her about. And after writing that letter, it was time to develop a plan for work the following day.


	4. Chapter 4

As Amalia walked to work, she was torn between excitement and trepidation. She had spent her sick day imagining all of the possible ways the day could go, ranging from things returning to the normal, mean-spirited bickering, to dramatic confessions of love. Her plan was to be as friendly with him as she could manage, hopefully making it clear that something had changed, but a small part of her was still concerned he wouldn't give her the chance. She arrived to find Georg standing outside the shop inspecting the new Christmas display in the window. Taking a deep breath, she greeted him.

“Good morning, Mr. Nowack!” she said with a shaky smile.

“Good morning, Miss Balash!” he turned around and beamed at her, instantly calming her fears and bringing a genuine smile to her face, “You're feeling better today, I hope?”

“Oh, much better, thank you. I feel rather like a new person today. In a good way, of course.”

“I'm so glad to hear it. And did you end up writing that letter to... what was it you call him, Dear Friend?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, of course. I do love him, after all,” Amalia was thrilled to see a small smile and a blush develop before Georg ducked his head to hide it.

“Oh, Miss Balash, I brought a book I think you may like.” Georg reached into his jacket and pulled out a worn novel. “You don't have to read it if you don't want to, but I wanted to offer...”

“I'd love to read it! Thank you, Mr. Nowack.” Amalia took the book and grinned at him.

“Well, time to face the day Miss Balash. I think it'll be a good one,” he said, returning her grin as they both walked inside.

 

Amalia spent the whole day in good spirits, despite the start of the Christmas rush. She caught Georg looking over at her several times throughout the day and felt like she could do anything. During lulls in business, they began pleasant conversations with each other, earning them confused looks from Ilona and Arpad. Mr. Sipos, on the other hand, looked oddly smug.

Shortly before closing, Amalia and Ilona were once again doing wrapping in the back room. Amalia was not aware of how different her demeanor had become, until Ilona turned to her and stared.

“So I take it your date the other night went well?” Ilona asked.

“Oh, no, it was terrible,” Amalia said, laughing.

“Terrible? You seem quite cheerful for having a terrible date,” Ilona asked suspiciously.

“Well, 'tis the season to be jolly after all!”

“Amalia, are you sure you're not still ill from yesterday? You're behaving so oddly. Not that I'm not happy you're happy, but you're even being nice to Mr. Nowack.”

“The date was terrible, but the man was not. There was a misunderstanding and it's a long story, but I feel like things are turning around. And as for Mr. Nowack--he may not be as awful as I had once believed.”

“If you say so, Amalia...” Ilona did not look convinced, but returned to her wrapping in peace.

 

The following day, business continued to pick up. This gave Amalia fewer opportunities to start up conversations, but she found that they began catching each other's eyes throughout the day. Not like yesterday when Georg kept looking at her and then looking away when she noticed, but sharing looks of exasperation with a customer or excitement at the pleasant chaos inside the shop. Though they only exchanged a few words throughout the day, she felt like they had been in constant communication. Amalia couldn't believe how quickly things had shifted between them, and only let herself regret their months of bitterness for a moment before reveling in her happiness. She was loved and in love, and the only thing getting in the way of them was, well, themselves.

At the end of the day, they seemed to gravitate towards each other unconsciously.

“Quite a day, eh, Mr. Nowack?”

“It certainly was, Miss Balash.”

“Oh.” Amalia dug in her purse and found the novel from the day before. “Thank you for the book--it was excellent.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.” Georg smiled at her in surprise, “Will you be taking the bus home today, Miss Balash?”

“Yes, I will.”

“May I walk you to the bus stop?” The hopeful look on his face almost made Amalia blush.

“I'd like that, Mr. Nowack.”

Georg offered his arm, and Amalia felt she practiced great restraint by waiting a full second before accepting it and linking her arm around his. She was not prepared for the sudden jolt of electricity she felt upon the physical contact, and she had the sense Georg was similarly caught off guard. Once again, she wondered how on earth they could've gotten so far off course when they first met. If they hadn't both been too proud to give the other a chance, who knows where they would be now. But, as it was, Amalia couldn't complain too much – as they were now walking arm in arm and discussing the book she had borrowed. As they neared the bus stop, Amalia realized that she had not brought up Dear Friend all day. She needed to keep up the story. As smitten as she was feeling, she had the upper hand and wanted to use it. It's only fair he confess first, right?

“I was thinking I might recommend it to Dear Friend.” Amalia said casually, and was surprised by Georg's reaction. He dropped her arm quickly.

“Oh, Dear Friend, yes,” he said, looking at the ground.

“I really think he would like it.” She thought he looked absolutely adorable in such a nervous state, though she was disappointed that he had let go.

“You're not wrong...” Georg replied to the ground, before recovering enough to look back up at Amalia's face. “Well, Miss Balash, I should head home.”

“Good night, Mr. Nowack. Thank you for your company and your time.” Amalia grabbed his hand and squeezed it, before quickly dropping it.

Georg stood for a moment staring at his hand, before stuttering out a good night and making his way back towards Maraczek's. Amalia grinned so much on her way home that her cheeks began to ache.

 

Over the next several days, work got busier and her days got longer, but she hardly cared. Georg continued walking her to the bus stop, and within a few days they were going for coffee every night before she caught the bus home. They talked about art, literature, music, work, and each other. Amalia reveled in the fact that every conversation brought them closer, that they stayed in the coffee shop longer and longer each night, and that the line between Mr. Nowack and Dear Friend had almost completely disappeared. The fact that that line did still exist, though, was frustrating. She had made it perfectly clear that she liked him, that all of those negative things she had said in the past didn't matter now, and that she was in love with Dear Friend. He ought to know by now that she was in love with _him_.

About a week into their nightly coffee dates, she decided she had to do something to spur him into action. At this point, Amalia was fairly sure that he would react favorably if she confessed that she knew, but part of her was still hesitant to say anything. She told herself it was her competitive nature, that she wanted to hold out longer than him just to show him, since he was really the one to start the deception. In reality, though, she was afraid. He could be staying silent because he's not positive about his feelings. Sure, he'd continued to write Dear Friend, but he might just be biding time until he makes a decision. If that were the case, Amalia wouldn't know how to handle it. So, action had to be taken. It was time to try meeting Dear Friend again.

“So, I posted a letter to Dear Friend this morning, inviting him to Christmas Eve with my mother and me.”

Georg nearly choked on his coffee in response to her statement.

“Since we got everything straightened out concerning that horrid attempt at a first date, it seemed time to try again, and what better time than Christmas? He's a lot like you, Mr. Nowack...” She gave him a meaningful look. “He doesn't have family near to spend the holiday with.”

“Well, that sounds like a great idea then, Miss Balash.” He had recovered himself enough to put on an enthusiastic smile. “I'm sure he'd love to come.”

“I'm glad you like the idea,” Amalia said with a sigh, wondering if Georg was ever going to move beyond mild panic every time Dear Friend was mentioned and tell the truth already.


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, Christmas Eve arrived. Dear Friend had agreed to meet Amalia that night, and if work hadn't been so completely chaotic she would have been a mess of nerves all day. She _knew_ who he was, she knew Georg would have to do _something_ , but still she was nervous. When the work day finally ended, she knew the only way to combat her concerns was to move forward with her plan. This had to end tonight, so something truly amazing could begin.

“Mr. Nowack,” Amalia called, as Georg placed the closed sign in the window. “Mother and I would be so happy if you spent Christmas Eve with us...”

Georg hesitated before turning to her. “Well, Miss Balash...”

“It's a very special Christmas Eve.” She grinned. “Do you know who's going to be there? Dear Friend!”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he replied, feigning innocence. “But I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“Intrude! You'd be helping! After all, you know him. You've met him. And you're so alike, really.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes and sighed dramatically. “You can help me with the conversation when it gets too deep for me. Please, Mr. Nowack?”

Georg smirked at her sarcasm, then closed his eyes and sighed before replying. “Well, I just hope this isn't a mistake, Miss Balash.”

“I _know_ it's not.” Amalia looked him directly in the eyes as she said it, hoping to communicate everything without saying anything. Georg took a step towards her and she was _sure_ he was about to tell her, but then Mr. Maraczek walked in the door.

Amalia, Georg, and the others in the shop crowded around Mr. Maraczek and celebrated his recovery and the day's sales. Frustrated as she was about being interrupted, she was pleased to see Mr. Maraczek looking so well and enjoyed the small celebration with her coworkers. But as Ilona was leaving to meet her new beau, she mentioned him proposing tonight (which Amalia had little doubt would happen just as Ilona said), and Amalia was reminded of what this evening may bring.

She still had no idea of what Georg had planned. Everything would have to come to light tonight, one way or another. She believed Georg would come clean rather than fake Dear Friend standing her up again, but she was now prepared to call him on it if she needed to. After that, though, she didn't know what to expect. Would Georg remain tentative once it was all out, or would Ilona not be the only engaged woman to walk into Maraczek's after the holiday? Not very long ago, Amalia was nearly positive that Dear Friend would ask her to marry her on their first date. But now, after everything that had happened, despite all signs of positive encouragement, she still couldn't let herself trust that Georg would actually ask. She had only barely convinced herself that he wasn't hesitating out of uncertainty about his feelings for her.

“Miss Balash?”

Amalia had been lost in her thoughts and was startled to hear her name.

“Are you ready to head home?” Georg asked her.

“Oh, um.” The question had caught her off guard, but she couldn't help but laugh as a look of horror suddenly spread across Georg's face.

“I mean, your mother's home!” he said in a panic, “Are you ready to head to your mother's?”

“Yes, I am.” She grinned at him, once again noting how cute he was when flustered.

Amalia grabbed her stack of Christmas gifts as they walked out of the shop.

“Let me help you with those -” Georg tried to take some from her, and instead knocked one of the boxes to the ground. The unmistakable cigarette box music began playing from the fallen package and Amalia smiled sheepishly at him. She had planned on giving it to him as something between a joke and a peace offering, since those boxes were the start of their contention so many months ago. But that was supposed to be after they had talked, not before it was all out in the open.

“A cigarette box?” he asked with a smile.

“I know you hate them, but I rather like them. And I thought – as a gift for Dear Friend...” She felt a new rush of nerves hit, and all over a silly cigarette box.

“But - what if he's not a smoker?”

“He likes music,” Amalia added defensively.

“And it's just a box. You know, Miss Balash...I don't hate these boxes nearly as much as I used to. In fact, I wouldn't mind owning one myself.” Georg appeared to be playing up his enthusiasm, but it was working on Amalia.

“You wouldn't?” A smile spread across her face.

“If only to remind me of the first day you came here. Remember? I'll never forget it...” Georg then put on a horrible imitation of Amalia's voice. “'What kind of box, madame? Uh, a candy box! And it's functional!'”

“I was so terrified.” Amalia laughed. “And you were so awful. Did I really sound like that?”

“You sounded... irresistible.” Georg paused nervously, and Amalia felt like she couldn't breathe. A few minutes ago she had been wondering if he would propose, yet she found herself unprepared for this shift in the conversation. “As a matter of fact, I remember thinking: why, that's the kind of girl I could almost fall in love with.”

“But you were so awful...” Amalia's mind raced as she realized what this meant. She had tried to hide her attraction to him when they first met, but she had never considered he might have thought anything similar of her at the time. Their connection was just as instant in person as on paper, and all they had done with it was torture each other.

“I know.”

“And you never said anything!” She was still in shock, thinking of how much time they wasted on their petty war. He should have said something, gotten over his wounded pride at how she got the job.

“How could I? I knew how you felt about me...” As his sentence trailed off, Amalia could see genuine worry in his eyes and realized she was just as much to blame as he was. And not only that, he still knew less of her feelings than she did of his.

“But you didn't! Really, you didn't! Because I was attracted to you. More than attracted to you...” She was overwhelmed by a sense of relief, saying even those words.

“Awful as I was?”

“What a shame you never spoke up...”

“And you...”

“Who knows what might have been...” Amalia paused and prepared herself to tell Georg the truth. But before she could continue, he looked up and met her eyes.

“ _I am so sorry about last night, it was a nightmare in every way_...” He began reciting the words she had written Dear Friend the day after the date.

“Dear Friend!” A smile grew on her face. “I knew it was you!”

“I waited two weeks--it was intolerable. I needed you to know. I was so tempted to tell you, I wanted you to know!” He couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough.

“Oh, Georg, I was so anxious! I was afraid that...I'm so relieved!”

“I couldn't wait another day,” Georg said breathlessly.

“Neither could I.” Amalia was about to tell him that she had known as long as he had, but she fell silent as he tentatively drew closer to her. She reacted the only way she could think to: throwing her arms around his neck and placing her lips on his. It took Georg only a moment before responding to the kiss and pulling her close. Amalia felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She wasn't sure how long they stood outside the shop like that, but when they finally pulled away from each other, Amalia was feeling happier than she could recall, and maybe a little bit lightheaded.

“Took you long enough.” She beamed at him, taking one of his hand in hers.

“Well, I could hardly tell you that night at the restaurant. You would have laughed in my face.”

“No I wouldn't have! You know I wouldn't have.”

“You're right, I know that now, but I thought then that there had to be some sort of mistake. And by the time I realized there hadn't been a mistake, I thought it would disappoint you to know it was me, and I couldn't handle that either.” Georg looked down at their intertwined hands and sighed.

“It...was disappointing, I will admit, for the same reasons it was for you.” He looked up at her in surprise, and Amalia couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean? That you were disappointed that your hated co-worker showed up instead of Dear Friend, or that you were disappointed when it was confirmed...just now...” Worry clouded his face as he unconsciously let go of her hand.

“No! I wasn't disappointed tonight, obviously I wasn't. I knew it was you. I knew, I'm assuming, before you did.”

“You knew I was Dear Friend?” Georg could only stare at her in confusion.

“I don't know if you remember, but I saw you that morning at the post office. I happened to glance at the box number, and I realized...” Amalia trailed off, feeling unsure again.

“I had completely forgotten. If you knew, why didn't you say anything?”

“Well, I had to process it, and once I did I was just...angry. Oh, Georg, it sounds so awful to say now, but I thought you must have played a cruel trick on me, done all of that to make me fall for you so you could use it against me. It wasn't until later that night that I realized we had been writing before we ever met at Maraczek's.”

“But...you still went to dinner. Why would you do that if you were so angry with me?” The look of confusion was now tempered with a smile.

“I didn't know at the time, or at least I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I was still hopeful. I hoped to see something of Dear Friend in you, or get an explanation, or just get back at you. All I ended up feeling was hurt, though.”

“I am so sorry for how I behaved at the restaurant that night.” He grabbed her hand again, and Amalia felt warmth wash over her.

“As am I. We both said cruel things. That night, I hardly slept, I kept going over everything in my head and I realized that you couldn't have been trying to hurt me, that you really had written those letters from a place of sincerity, and that at least some part of me must have been in love with some part of you. And then you came to my apartment, and I didn't know how to handle it or how to feel about you, so I just played along. And then you were so kind! You brought me ice cream! But you still didn't tell me the truth, so I had no idea where you stood, and I figured if you were going to play a part then I would continue to do so as well. Every mention I made of Dear Friend to you after that was planned, I just wanted you to tell me, but I wasn't sure if you were ready. And maybe I was a little bit too prideful; I wanted you to be the one to break first.”

“There I was waiting to be sure, waiting for the timing to be right so I didn't ruin everything by letting you know I lied, and you were doing the same thing...” He smirked and shook his head, as they began walking toward the bus stop.

“What about you, though?!” Amalia laughed. “Everything I did, I did knowing that you already knew who I was. But you believed me to be a heartbroken girl, and you still teased me. The story you told at dinner, and then what you said about Dear Friend! Bald, old, fat!”

“I have no excuses for what I said at dinner, beyond not knowing how to handle or understand what I was feeling. And at your apartment...I think I must have been testing you, seeing how you really felt about me, on paper at least, because realizing I was in love with you was nothing short of terrifying.”

“How easily I can understand that. But why not say anything earlier? You had to have known how I felt before long, I did nothing to hide it.”

“I knew you at least liked me, and I didn't want to ruin things. As you said, I knew you to be a recently heartbroken girl, and I was worried that telling you a truth you might not be ready to hear would hurt you even more. I was afraid to do anything.” Georg stopped walking and looked at Amalia. “What if I ruined things with the girl I hoped to marry?”

“And I had the same concerns over the man I planned to marry.”

“We're quite a – wait, _planned_ to marry?”

“Well, _plan_ to.” Amalia gave Georg a mischievous grin. “Right?”

Georg pulled her close and kissed her again, which Amalia took to be a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow and talk SLM with me at amaliabalash.tumblr.com. :)


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